Sanctuary
by Marla Fair
Summary: Since Charles is working late at the mill, Caroline decides to use the time to decorate the church sanctuary for the upcoming Harvest Celebration. A sound alerts her to the fact that she is not alone and propels the Ingalls on a journey fraught with peril.
1. Chapter 1

ONE

oooooooo

The wind wafted in the open church window, blowing a stray lock of blonde hair into Caroline Ingalls' face. She caught it and tucked it behind her ear, and then scooted her chair back and headed for the source of the cold air. It was well past time to close it. Since she was working alone, she'd left it open to enjoy the chatter on the main street of Walnut Grove; listening to the comings and goings of the men, women, and children outside. Still, it was late November and it wouldn't do to take a chill.

There was far too much to do with the holidays coming up!

On the way to the window Caroline stopped to check her daughter, Laura, who had volunteered to help make the decorations for the upcoming Thanksgiving service and then promptly fallen asleep on one of the church pews. Catching hold of the warm woolen shawl she'd placed over her child, the slender blonde woman bent and pulled it up over the little girl's shoulders. As she straightened up, Caroline let out a little sigh. It had been a long Saturday in town. Charles was working late at Hanson's Mill on a rush order and she had thought it the perfect time to come to the sanctuary and finish up a few things before the Sunday service. Laura had chosen to stay with her and Mary had gone to Miss Beadle's to help Eva grade papers. Grace Edwards had seen them come into town and kindly volunteered to watch Carrie at her place so they could get their work done uninterrupted. The Reverend Alden had been working in the church as well, but had just left. Their minister insisted on going to the parsonage to fix sandwiches and tea, declaring – when she maintained she could wait until she got home to eat – that Moses didn't part the Red Sea on an empty stomach.

Caroline chuckled. Robert Alden was such a dear man. They were so blessed to have him as the shepherd of their small flock.

As she arrived at the window, the blonde woman paused and looked out. The light was fast fading. Here and there oil lamps were springing to life in the houses located along Walnut Grove's main avenue. Charles was planning on working until eight and that meant she had a little over two hours to accomplish her self-imposed task. The week before the children had gathered autumn leaves and dipped them in paraffin, preserving their fragile beauty for a time. She was arranging them into wreaths to hang on the church windows and doors. Caroline's gaze went to the now-barren trees. Autumn was such a wonder; displaying God's majesty in a brilliant burst of color that heralded not only the end of the yearly cycle of life, but the resurrection and renewal of it. She loved the season, though she had to admit at times it made her melancholy. As the days grew shorter and the wind colder, as dry leaves and bare branches – brown and brittle – blew across the yard and rattled the windows, one could not help but reflect on how brief a man's days were to walk the earth.

Or a woman's.

A little shiver brought Caroline back to the present and the open window. She placed her hands on the sill and shoved down hard, closing it and shutting out the wind. Then she laughed. Such morbid thoughts! Usually it was Charles who was prone to be contemplative. She chided her handsome husband often enough about thinking too long and too deeply about things. And here she was, preparing for the day when they would give thanks to the Lord for the bounty of their harvest and the blessings of their lives, and she'd allowed gloomy thoughts to carry her away! Wrapping her arms around her slender frame, Caroline turned back to face the altar. As her gaze went to the wooden cross that stood there, she considered their source. Perhaps it was the events of this last year – the tornado, Charles being forced to work in another town, the loss of their crops. Their struggle to get by...

Freddie.

"Caroline Ingalls," she said out loud. "You should be ashamed! Idle hands _are_ the Devil's tool! It's time you got back to work."

A soft murmur made her look toward her daughter. Laura was stirring.

"Ma?" she asked, her little eyes blinking with sleep. "Is it time to go home?"

Crossing over to her child, Caroline brushed the hair out of her eyes and planted a kiss on her forehead. "Not quite. Pa's still at the mill. You just go back to sleep."

"Shouldn't I ought to be helping you?" Laura asked, her words slurring as slumber called.

"I'm not doing much right now other than waiting on the reverend to return. He went to fix some sandwiches," she replied as the little girl snuggled in. "How about I wake you when he gets back?"

"Mm-hm," her daughter murmured and was fast asleep.

Caroline smiled and shook her head. Just like her father. Laura could have fallen asleep on a brick!

Turning from her child, the blonde woman headed for her work table. She hadn't taken five steps when she stopped. She'd heard something – a muffled sound, like a cough hidden behind a hand or a word spoken through a handkerchief. It was followed by a scraping noise. A drawer opening perhaps, or a chair being moved? The noise had come from the room behind the altar where they kept supplies and off-season goods. There was a rear entrance there, but it was seldom used. For the life of her she couldn't imagine why Robert would have chosen to return that way instead of coming in through the front door.

"Reverend Alden? Is that you?" Caroline called out.

The noise stopped. She heard a word, spoken low, and then the door to the store room opened and a total stranger stepped into the sanctuary.

It was a young man, probably in his late teens or early twenties. He was obviously down on his luck. Though his coat, shirt, and pants looked store-bought they were well-worn and, in places, threadbare. His coat was muddy as well and littered with debris as if he had slept outside the night before. He was nice-looking, but unkempt. His hollow cheeks were stubbled with the beginning of a beard and his wavy brown hair – which hung nearly to his shoulders – needed a wash.

The eyes he turned on her were wild as any captive animal's.

Taking a step back, Caroline placed herself between him and her sleeping child before asking, "Can I help you?"

She winced. She hadn't meant to sound afraid.

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, "This is a church, isn't it?"

The blonde woman resisted looking at the altar and other obvious trappings. "Yes," she answered, thinking it through. "Are you looking for the Reverend Alden? He'll be back soon – "

The man's eyes darted to the front of the church and then back to her. "When?"

"Any minute," she replied, her tone more sure than she was. "I'm certain he can help you with whatever it is you need – "

"You don't know anything about what I need!" the young man snarled as he moved past her and headed for the vestibule. "Don't pretend you know anything about me!"

Caroline stammered. "I'm...I'm sorry. I assumed – "

"Don't," he said as he disappeared around the corner. She followed and was just in time to watch him open one of the church doors a few inches. Caroline noticed how he stayed to one side of it, as if afraid to be seen.

It was out of her mouth before she could stop it. "Is someone following you? Are you in trouble?"

The young man's head went down and stayed down for a moment. When he looked up, his brown eyes shone in the dusky light that filled the church. There might have been tears in them. He stared at her for a few seconds and then turned and took hold of the wooden pole leaning up against the wall – the one they used to light candles. Closing the door, he threaded the pole through the handles, barring entry. When he'd done that, her captor indicated with a nod that they should return to the sanctuary.

As she walked up the aisle, he called out to her, "What's your name?"

Caroline gripped the closest pew. As they'd entered the sanctuary, she'd heard Laura murmur. She prayed her child was simply shifting and not waking up.

So far the man hadn't noticed her.

"Caroline," she answered with a forced smile as she turned to look at him where he'd stopped near the rear wall. "What's yours?"

The young man hesitated a moment before replying. "You can call me Lucas. My ma always called me Lucas." He took a step toward her. "You remind me of her."

"Oh?" She backed up a matching step. "Does she know where you are? I bet she's missing you."

Lucas shook his head. "No. She can't. She's... Ma's dead." He drew in a great gasp of air, like he was a drowning man just breaking the surface. "There was a fire. I –"

A noise made him whirl toward the door; his ill-fed body taut as a bowstring. Lucas reached into his coat as he returned to it and then pressed his ear against the wood and listened. After a moment, he seemed to relax as whoever it was moved away.

Caroline's gaze was locked on his hand, which was still inside his coat.

"Lucas, why are you here?" she asked, keeping her voice as calm as she could. "What is it you want?"

As he turned toward her, he pulled his hand out.

"Sanctuary," he said.

Lucas was holding a gun.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Charles, what are you still doing in town?"

The question caused him to turn. In doing so Charles came face to face with Nels Oleson. The long-faced man had the same hangdog look he usually wore – probably due to the fact that his battleaxe of a wife was hastening across the street to join them. Harriet was wearing her Sunday best, which was a sure sign she meant to lord her wealth and position over some poor soul. Charles lifted his hat out of politeness as she came to Nels' side and then dropped it back on his head .

"Nels. Harriet. Where are you two off to?"

"I asked first," the shopkeeper answered with a smile

The curly-haired man inclined his head toward the mill. "Working late on the Griffins contract. You know those big city fellows. Have to have what they want when they want it, no matter what."

"I see nothing wrong with a man expecting to get what he paid for on time!" Harriet sniffed.

"I don't either," Charles replied patiently, "unless that man expects the impossible. Griffins is a business man, not a lumber man. He doesn't seem to understand that a tree can only be felled and processed in a certain amount of time."

"Then Lars should hire more men," she stated flatly.

"Harriet," Nels interjected, "You have to remember that there's such a thing as a pay to profit ratio."

"Well, of course, I know that!" she snapped. "What do you think I am? An idiot?"

The shopkeeper's ' eyes met his and rolled.

It was hard not to snicker.

"Of course I don't think you're an idiot, dear. It just seemed that, perhaps, you were suggesting it was all right to operate at a loss. In that case, perhaps we should start extending credit to more customers..."

Harriet glared at Nels and then threw her hands up in the air.

"If you're going to talk nonsense, I want no part of it. I'll be in the buggy!" the haughty woman declared as her glare moved from her husband to him. "Maybe I can get some intelligent conversation out of the horses!"

As Harriet stormed away, Nels let out a sigh. "One jackass to another..."

Charles couldn't help it. Laughter bubbled up in him and burst out in a giggle.

Nels' lips curled up on one end.

"Good evening, gentleman. And what joy has the good Lord visited upon you to bring about such merriment?"

They both turned at the sound of the Reverend Alden's voice. The older man had halted a few feet away from them. He was carrying a tray laden with sandwiches that also held a steaming pot of tea and two cups.

"Good evening, Reverend," the shopkeeper said. "We were just discussing my wife."

Robert Alden's pale eyebrows popped. For obvious reasons, that subject wasone which was not usually accompanied by laughter.

"Indeed. Good thoughts, I hope?"

Nels nodded. "Of course, my wife –"

Harriet's shrill voice cut him short. "Nels Oleson! For Heaven's sake, you're worse than a woman! You stop talking and get over here! We're going to be late to supper and we wouldn't want to keep the Cassidys waiting!"

The shopkeeper's shoulders drooped. "Oh, wouldn't we?" he muttered.

"The Cassidys out of Mankato?" Charles' gaze went to the setting sun and then returned to his friend. "You got some camping out clothes hidden under that fancy suit of yours?"

"We're meeting them this side of Sleepy Eye and staying overnight. Harriet has it in her head that we need to carry this new line of hats out of London that the Cassidy's are pushing." The tall thin man stifled another sigh. "Of course, the only reason she wants us to carry them is so _she_ can buy them all and show off –"

"Nels!"

"Hell hath no fury..." the reverend said.

"Is that in the Bible?" Nels asked.

Robert Alden laughed. "No. But it should be."

"You got Willy and Nellie stuffed in a suitcase?" Charles asked, noticing that the Olesons' children were missing.

"We'll be picking them up along the way." Nels shook his head. "There's also a new line of toys...God help me."

"I'm sure He will," Robert interjected.

The shopkeeper gave them both a tepid little smile and then walked off to the tune of his wife yelling his name again. They both watched for a moment before the reverend spoke.

"That man has the patience of a saint," he said.

Charles' snorted. "He'd have to!"

Robert tried his best to appear unamused. He wasn't very good at it. "And what are you doing here, Charles? Caroline said you were working late at the mill."

He lifted his hand to show the minister the tool he held. "Had to make a trip to the blacksmith shop. I'm headed back to Hanson's now to finish up." Charles nodded at the tray. "Those for Caroline and Laura?"

The reverend chuckled. "Yes. Even though Laura gave out shortly before I went to the parsonage, I'm sure she'll help eat them." He paused. "Caroline has to be hungry. She's been working hard all day. That's one dedicated woman you have there, Charles."

"Dedicated and determined," he agreed. "Once Caroline's made her mind up, it would take the angels descending on Jacob's ladder from Heaven itself to change it."

"Hmm," Robert said. "It seems to me that Caroline has said the very same thing about you!"

Charles pretended to consider it. "Seems about right." He grinned. "I _am_ an angel after all!"

This time the reverend laughed out loud. Once he had collected himself, he held out the tray. "Please, take a sandwich. Even _angels_ get hungry." When he shook his head, the older man insisted. "Really, Charles. There's more than enough. Take two. One for you and one for Lars."

He eyed the sandwiches, thick with meat and cheese. As he did his stomach growled.

Robert laughed. "I take it that's a 'yes'?"

Charles shook his head and grinned. "I've been outvoted!" As he took two of the sandwiches in hand, he said, "Thank you."

"You are most welcome and now," Robert turned toward the church, "the Good Lord giveth and the Good Lord taketh away!"

His grin broadened into a smile. "Tell Caroline I should be about another hour and a half, and then I'll come get her and Laura."

"I'll do that. You take care, Charles."

"It's a quiet dusky evening in Walnut Grove," he shrugged. "What could possibly go wrong?"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Everything was wrong.

She was alone in the church with a man with a gun. Her innocent child was asleep on the pew behind her. The Reverend Alden was due back any minute and – Heaven forfend! – Charles could be on his way to pick them up. Caroline watched Lucas pace the area at the back of the sanctuary like a caged animal. He was a taut wire waiting to snap. As he moved, the young man tapped the barrel of the gun against his head and muttered under his breath. She was too far away to catch what he said, but it was obvious he was distraught. Each time she shifted Lucas started as if surprised and the gun moved in her direction. She didn't think he would shoot her – not really – but she was afraid that the weapon might accidentally discharge or worse, be turned on the first person to come through the door.

Drawing a breath against her fear, Caroline called out to him. "Lucas?"

The young man turned to look at her. "What?"

"You said you wanted 'sanctuary'." She hesitated. "Why? Have you done something wrong?"

"No!" Lucas scowled. His jaw grew tight. "No," he said more softly, and then added, "At least, I didn't mean to..."

So he _had_ done something. The blonde woman thought through what little she knew about him. "You mentioned your mother. Does it have to do with her?"

"Don't you mention her! Don't you ever...!" Tears flooded his eyes. "Please, don't..." Lucas paused. He looked startled.

Good Lord! Laura was waking up.

"Ma?"

"Laura, stay still!"

"Laura?" Lucas looked wild. "What? Who else is here?"

"It's my daughter. She's just a child." Caroline positioned herself between them. "She's been sleeping on the pew."

If possible, the young man looked even _more_ nervous. "A kid?"

"I ain't a kid," Laura corrected as she sat up.

She pivoted sharply. Her whisper was just as sharp. "Laura. Hush! Not another word!"

Her daughter looked properly quashed. She nodded her head. "Yes, Ma'am.'

"Great. A kid." Lucas swore under his breath and then winced. With a glance at Laura he said, "Sorry."

So, he had a conscience.

That or he was apologizing for what he was about to do.

"Let Laura go." The words were out of her mouth before Caroline knew they were coming. "Please, let her go."

"Ma, no! I ain't goin' without _you!"_

"Hush!" she warned even as Laura came to her side.

"Ma..."

Lucas was shaking his head. "I...don't...know..."

"I do," the blonde woman said. "You claim you came here to find sanctuary. Is that true, or are you holding us hostage?"

He blinked, unsure. "I gotta do what I gotta do."

"Does that include threatening a child?" she snapped. "Let her go. Her father's in town –"

"Your man's in town? Oh, that's great. Just great!" The young man's hand began to shake as his fear ratcheted up. "Is he coming here?"

Caroline closed her eyes. She prayed to God that Charles would stay far away, even though she knew that prayer was in vain.

"Eventually." Caroline took a step toward him. "The Reverend Alden will be back soon as well. Lucas, why don't you give me that gun and –"

"No!" he shouted as his knuckles went white on the weapon. "I ain't goin' back! I ain't _ever_ goin' back! I don't want to hurt you, Ma'am, but I'm gonna do whatever I _have_ to do to be sure I don't!"

Laura tugged at her skirt. "Ma, you think he escaped from one of those prison wagons?" she asked quietly.

That was _exactly_ what she thought.

Which meant the men who hunted Lucas could not be far behind.

Using her best 'ma' tone, she said, "Lucas. Listen to me. If you're caught..." The blonde woman hesitated as he bristled and shook his head. " _If_ you're caught and you are holding a _child_ hostage, things will go bad for you."

"Worse than holding a _woman_ hostage?" he scoffed.

"Yes. I'm a grown woman. I can make my own choice to stay." Caroline glanced at her daughter who was vehemently shaking her head and mouthing 'no'. Then she looked back at him. "Laura can't make that kind of decision. She's not old enough." Tears entered her eyes as she pleaded, "Lucas, as a mother, I'm asking that you to do the right thing and let my daughter go."

The young man stared at her hard. He sniffed, ran the hand that held the gun under his nose, and then nodded.

Steeling herself, Caroline turned to her child. "Laura, I want you to walk out that door and go find your father. Tell him I'm all right and that he isn't to come charging in here. You tell the Reverend Alden the same thing as well." She paused to collect herself and then knelt so she was on the same level as the little girl. "I love you, Laura. You be sure to tell your Pa I love him too and I'll see him soon."

"Ma..."

Tears were streaming down Laura's face. She reached up to wipe them away with the end of her apron. "We're in God's house. God will take care of me. Now you go! That's an order!"

Laura's jaw was nearly as tight as Lucas'. She could read defiance in her eyes, but then Laura was obedient. She nodded, once.

"I'll go find, Pa," she said as she started to move.

Caroline caught her arm. " _And_ tell him not to charge in here."

Laura sighed, found out. "And tell Pa not to charge in. Yes, Ma'am."

"Promise?"

Laura was hurting. She wished she could have done something to make this easier, but there was nothing.

"Promise," she whispered.

"Hurry it up!" Lucas growled.

Caroline glanced at him and then she took her daughter's hand and walked her to the door. As they approached the young man removed the pole and opened it about a foot wide – just enough for Laura to slip through. As he did, the blonde woman caught a glimpse of the Reverend Alden – tray and all – headed their way. For a second, she considered trying to dash through with her child, but then, decided against it.

The threat to Laura and Robert was all too real.

As Laura's foot hit the first step, the reverend looked up. Their eyes locked for several long heartbeats. Caroline shook her head even as Lucas caught her arm and drew her back.

Just before he closed the door and barred it again from the inside.


	2. Chapter 2

TWO

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Charles had just finished his work and was wiping his hands on his linsey-woolsey pants when he heard two things – the sound of multiple horses' hooves pounding into the town and the heart-rending cry of one little girl.

 _His_ little girl.

"Paaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

For a moment he feared Laura had been trampled beneath the thundering hooves, but then Charles saw her running toward him as if life itself depended upon her reaching him. The men on horseback pulled to a sharp halt behind her and began to dismount. One of them was already off his horse and shouting at the top of his lungs. A narrow beam of light struck the tin star on his vest as he turned on his heel and headed for the Reverend Alden who was standing in the middle of the street holding the tray of sandwiches; his mouth agape. The few people who were milling about the town had quickly gathered around them. Lanterns in hand, they'd poured out of their houses and closed shops to fill the street.

Above the babble of voices he heard his child call his name again; her voice shrill, terrified.

Lost.

Dropping what he was holding, Charles began to run. Just as he reached her, Laura's toe struck something and she stumbled. He caught her in mid-fall and then nearly had the wind knocked out of him as Laura threw herself against him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and gripped him as tightly as she could.

"Pa! Oh, Pa!" she wailed.

"Half-pint?" he asked. "Laura? _Laura!_ What is it?" A sudden fear gripped him as he looked around and failed to find Caroline. Disengaging his child's arms, he held her a short ways out so he could look into her eyes. "Half-pint, where's your ma?"

"She's...she's...Oh, Pa..." Laura broke down, sobbing again.

Charles embraced his child and held her as she trembled. He felt about as lost as she looked. As he stood up, drawing her with him, the curly-haired man took a step forward only to stop when he saw Robert Alden's face.

"Charles," the older man said. "You need to hear what Sheriff Andrews has to say."

His hand was on Laura's head. She was trembling. "Caroline?" he asked.

"She's alive, Charles," Robert paused and then added, quietly, "and in God's hands."

His eyes went from their minister to the lawman who stood a few feet behind him. The sheriff's steely gaze was fastened on the church. Charles turned to look and, for just a moment, spotted a man's face peering out of the open door.

And then the door was shut.

Turning back to Robert, he demanded, "What's happening? Reverend, who's in the church? Is it..." Suddenly it dawned on him – _why_ Laura was so frightened. "Caroline? She's in there?"

"I think I can answer most of your questions," the man with the badge said. "Mister Ingalls, is it?"

He nodded, at a loss for words.

"Maybe..." The sheriff cleared his throat. "Mister Ingalls, is there someone who can watch your daughter while we talk?"

Charles read the unspoken message in the lawman's eyes.

"Laura can come to our house. She can stay with Willie and Nellie," Nels Oleson's familiar voice offered. Charles rounded to find the tall thin man just behind him. Willie and Nellie were at his side. So was Harriet.

She was wringing her hands.

Nels indicated the lawman. "We ran into Sheriff Andrews on the way to meet with the Cassidys. He turned us around. He said it wasn't..." The shopkeeper paused as if thinking through what he had to say. "Sheriff Andrews said it would be unwise for us to be out and about with Lucas Simmons on the loose."

Charles frowned. Lucas Simmons. Now, where had he heard that name?

"I advised the Olesons it would be best to postpone their trip until after I have Simmons in custody." Andrews' eyes went to Laura. "Just in case we had to chase him out of town, you understand?"

Charles nodded his gratitude.

"He's...in there, Pa. Lucas is with...Ma," his child breathed in his ear, fear choking her words. "Pa, he's...got...a gun."

Charles' heart stopped.

Harriet stepped forward. Her eyes were wide and glistening with unspent tears. "Charles," she began and then fell silent.

When it counted, people came through. Even old battle-axes.

He mouthed his 'thank you' and then pried Laura's little arms from his neck. Holding her out again he waited until she meet his eyes. When she did, he told her, "Laura, I want you to go with the Olesons."

She was already shaking her head. "Pa...no..."

"Yes. That's not a request, Half-pint, it's an _order._ You understand?" When the little girl continued to shake her head, he said, more gently. "I got more than enough worryin' to do about your ma. How can I take care of her if I'm worryin' about _you_ too?"

"We can play a game, Laura," Nellie said, actually trying to be helpful.

"Yeah," Willie echoed. "And we can have dessert. Can we have dessert, Pa?" he asked Nels.

"We'll do whatever it takes to make Laura feel at home," Harriet said as she took Willie by the hand. "Won't we Nellie?"

"Yes, Ma'am," the blonde girl said. Nellie held out her hand toward his child. "Come with me, Laura."

His child shifted in his arms. "Pa? Do I have to?"

Charles pulled his daughter close, kissed her hair, and then planted her feet on the ground. "Half-pint, I need you go with the Olesons, you hear?" At her reluctant nod, he added, "Your ma's in God's house. You have to trust Him to take care of her."

The curly-haired man drew in a breath and held it.

 _He_ had to trust God to take care of Caroline too.

"Okay, Pa," she said at last. "But you come and get me the minute you got ma. Promise?"

Charles forced a smile. "Promise." As he spoke, his gaze went to Nels and then Harriet. "Thanks," he said and meant it.

The shopkeeper's hand landed on his shoulder. "Anytime, Charles. You do what you have to do to get Caroline back and don't worry about Laura, she'll be safe with us."

Do what he had to do.

Yes.

That was _exactly_ what he intended to do.

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Caroline had resumed her seat at the table where she'd been working. It was positioned near the altar. She nervously fingered one of the paraffin coated leaves her children had made as she watched Lucas pace at the back of the sanctuary. She wondered if he'd remembered to lock the back entrance when he came in. The Reverend Alden or Charles might attempt to come in that way if he hadn't.

And Lucas' finger never left the trigger.

From her vantage point by the altar, Caroline studied the young man. He had the look of someone who had gone without a good meal or a decent night's sleep for some time. Lucas' skin was pale, his cheeks gaunt, and there were dark circles under his eyes. In fact, he looked entirely unhealthy. She'd noticed that his hands were calloused, so – most likely – he was a farmer or laborer. If so, he should have spent most of his days in the sun and been tanned by this time of the year. The fact that he was not suggested he'd recently spent a lot of time indoors. Considering the vehement declaration the young man had made to 'never go back', she had a pretty good idea of why he had.

Lucas was an escaped prisoner.

They had prison wagons go through Walnut Grove from time to time, on their way to the territorial prison. It always broke her heart to see the men – and occasionally women – who occupied them dressed in filthy rags and confined like animals. No matter what crimes they'd committed, they were human beings and deserved to be treated with some dignity. As was often the case, Lucas' crime could have been something as simple, like stealing a loaf of bread or a few goods from a store. Caroline's gaze returned to the young man and to the gun he held.

Of course, it could also have been murder.

Caroline gnawed her lower lip as she considered the words her captor had spoken earlier. Then, breaking the silence, she prompted, "Lucas. Tell me about your mother."

He jerked to a stop and turned to look at her. "Why?"

She let out a sigh. "Well, because you're holding me here and I think you owe it to me to at least tell me why. Why do you need sanctuary and from what?"

"From that bastard William Andrews," he snarled and then thought better of it. "Sorry, Ma'am."

"That's a pretty strong word." With strong feeling behind it. "Who is William Andrews?"

" _Sheriff_ William Blain Andrews." He scoffed, "He don't deserve that badge he's wearing."

"Why not?" At his angry look she added, "I can't know unless you tell me."

Lucas stepped to the side and checked the door again, no doubt wanting to be sure the wooden pole was still in place. Once he was content that it was, he returned to the pew. "I shouldn't be in prison," he said as he leaned on it. "That _villain_ should."

"What'd he do?" she asked.

"Killed my ma!" he spat. "And blamed it on me!"

Caroline knew that criminals often lied – and that sometimes they believed their own lies. Was Lucas a criminal, she wondered?

"And just how did he do that?"

Lucas blinked as his eyes filled with tears. He sniffed and struck one away before answering. "Ma and me...we was arguing. She was..." He hesitated, sniffed again, and went on. "God knows why, but she liked him. Andrews was at our house all the time. I never did trust him. I don't know why, but I didn't. Him and some of his men caught me and threw me in jail one day. When I got out and went home, I found the house on fire. Ma was...in it. Andrews told everyone I done it and that his men saw me riding away from the scene." Lucas winced as if in pain. "He's a big man in Mankato. The judge believed him." The young man's fingers balled into a fist and he struck the back of the pew. "The judge sent me to prison for twenty-five years!"

Caroline was trying to process what he'd said. It was hard to know if it was the truth.

"That's a long time," she commiserated.

"I'd be near forty by the time I got out! I couldn't..." He was breathing fast. "I was gonna _die_ in that place. It was horrible. You... Ma'am, you have _no_ idea. So when I had a chance, I took it. I escaped!" He paled and looked down, suddenly unable to meet her eyes.

Looking at Lucas – at his slumped shoulders and crestfallen face – Caroline knew the answer, but she asked anyhow. "Did someone get hurt?"

He nodded his head. His voice shook as he answered, "A deputy guarding me."

"Did you kill him?"

"NO!" he screamed. "No, I... At least, I didn't mean to. I hit him with the chains. I heard...later that he died." Lucas' brown eyes were tear-filled. "Really. If I killed him, I didn't mean to. I just..had to get away."

The situation had just gone from hopeful to downright hopeless. If Lucas _had_ killed a lawman – even if he _was_ innocent of his mother's death – the law was going to hunt him down like an animal.

Unless what he said about Sheriff Andrews was true and he could prove it.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Now you just hold those farm-bred horses of yours , Ingalls. If anyone is going into that church, it's me," William Andrews countered stubbornly.

Charles' held the lawman's gaze. He matched him tone for tone. "It's my wife in there , not yours."

Sheriff Andrews was a hard case. He was burnt and grizzled from the sun, about sixty, and so tough he could've chewed up nails and spit out tacks. Charles watched as the tall man ran a hand over his leathery face. It was obvious the lawman was close to exhaustion and his nerves were on edge. The sheriff had drawn him, along with a half-dozen of the leading citizens of Walnut Grove, into the feed and seed building where they were having a 'discussion' about to how to proceed.

A very _one-sided_ discussion.

Charles could tell the sheriff didn't like him. That was all right, because he didn't like the sheriff much either. The man was arrogant and had no interest in anyone's opinion other than his own. The lawman was planning on battering down the door to the church and forcing a confrontation with Simmons.

With his wife in the _middle_ of that confrontation.

It was plain as the badge on the lawman's black leather vest that there was something personal involved. Andrews tried to put it off to the fact that Lucas Simmons had killed one of his deputies who was serving as a guard while escaping, but the older man's hatred went too deep for that. Charles sighed. Try as he might, he couldn't recall the details of the crime that had made it into the newspapers. He'd seen the headlines when he was in Mankato to pick up supplies and, though _he_ hadn't read the articles himself, the trial was the talk of the town. He remembered the gossip goin' 'round was that the woman who had got herself killed had been involved with the local sheriff. Her son, a hardened criminal, had taken exception to that and burned their house down with his ma inside. If he recalled right, there were some as held to that story. But there were others – including the man who owned the feed store – who said Lucas Simmons was a good boy who loved his ma and the sheriff was the one to blame.

Charles glanced at wizened lawman. He sure wished he could remember if that sheriff had been named Andrews, because if William Andrews was the one who had been involved with Simmons' ma, that put a whole different spin on him insistin' on bein' the one to go into the church first.

Andrews cleared his throat to get his attention. "You're not a lawman, Ingalls. You're not qualified to negotiate with the prisoner."

Charles refused to be intimidated. "I may not be a lawman, sheriff, but I am a citizen of this town and that's my wife in there and if these men," he indicated his friends, "say I am qualified, then I'm qualified."

His gaze went from Nels Oleson to Lars Hanson, and then past them to the Reverend Alden. Robert was watching him closely, his light blue eyes narrowed in thought. Two of Andrews' deputies were watching him as well. One looked amused. The other, uncomfortable.

"This here badge," Andrews pulled on it, moving the tin star away from the black leather, "says otherwise."

"That badge gives you authority in Mankato," Nels said quietly. "Not in Walnut Grove."

The curly-haired man nodded, thanking his friend for his support.

"Charles."

He turned to look again at the Reverend Alden. "Yes?"

"Do you think it wise for you to be the one to go in?"

He frowned. Of all people, he'd expected Robert to back him up. "Of course it is."

"Think about it, Charles. If you go in then _both_ you and Caroline are at risk." The minister paused. "You need to think of your children..."

Charles frowned at the unfinished portion of that sentence. '...s _hould anything go wrong._ '

"Lucas Simmons is a killer, Mister Ingalls," Andrews declared. "While he might hesitate to shoot a woman, he would think nothing of cutting you down. You should listen to your parson."

Arrogant _and_ smug. The man's attitude sent shivers up his back.

"I'll take my chances."

William Andrews looked at the sober faces surrounding him. "I can order you all incarcerated."

"No, you can't. Not _vitout_ a court order," Lars Hanson said. "You hold no jurisdiction here."

"I don't think you and your two deputies are quite enough to take on the whole town," Nels added quietly.

"You want to get your friend killed? Is that it?" the lawman all but shouted.

Charles' jaw was tight. "I'm willing to take my chances. Somehow, I think if Lucas Simmons was the monster as you claim he is, he never would have let my daughter go."

William Andrews tried to stare him down. When that didn't work, the sheriff moved in closer, using his greater height to intimidate him.

Or trying to.

"You get in my way, _Mister_ Ingalls, and I will charge you with interfering with the duty of a sworn officer of the law. You may save your wife, but you won't see her or your children for ten years or more." Andrews reached out and punched his chest with two fingers. "And that's a promise."

Charles waited two heartbeats before leaning in and replying. "You touch me again and I promise _you_ won't be seein' anything!"

"Go ahead," the lawman dared him. "Strike me. You'll go to jail all the sooner."

A hand came down on his shoulder. The Reverend Alden, always the voice of reason, said, "Charles, defiance of the law isn't the answer. You'll do your wife and children no good if you end up sitting in a jail in Mankato."

"I got the cuffs with me, Ingalls. Just push me far enough," Andrews warned.

"Sheriff."

It was Nels. They all turned toward the shopkeeper. "Sheriff Andrews. Speaking for the citizen's committee of Walnut Grove, I and the other men have agreed to debate the issue – in your absence – and come to a decision. Let us know where we can find you and we'll let you know what it is." The tall thin man turned toward him. "I'm afraid you'll have to leave as well, Charles."

"Perhaps you should go see Laura," the reverend suggested. "She has to be beside herself with worry."

Charles looked at Robert Alden, gauging the minister's words against the look out of his pale blue eyes. After a moment, he ducked his head.

"Yeah, I should probably do that."

As Charles headed for the door, William Andrews called out. "And don't get any idea in your head about going near that church, Ingalls. You hear me? I'm leaving my man to watch it. No one is to go through those doors. Deputy Jackson here," he indicted the edgy looking man, "is authorized to stop anyone who tries – with deadly force if necessary."

Charles hesitated only a moment before replying, "Seems funny to me that killin' a man for tryin' to protect his wife is okay in your book, Andrews. Makes a man wonder what else you might have thought was all right."

With that, he moved through the feed and seed and walked out the door.

Once outside, Charles turned his feet toward the Oleson's house. He noticed as he did how Deputy Jackson followed him and dogged his steps. Charles shook his head as he walked. Seemed to him that a man ought to have a right to take a stroll in his own town without someone following him, and especially someone with less than the best of intentions. Sheriff Andrews had made it plain as day that he'd authorized Jackson to cause him bodily harm. The curly-haired man's lips curled in a smile. If it came to it, seemed to him as well that he had every right to fight back. He was sure any judge would agree with him.

Well, almost sure.

As Charles took a turn around the back of the Oleson's house, Deputy Jackson put on more speed to catch him up. He drew in a breath as he stepped into the shadows.

One way or the other, he was about to find out.

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"I swear, Laura Ingalls, you won't give a body a chance to do something nice for you!" Nellie Oleson exclaimed as she threw the fancy ribbon and lace dressed doll she was holding into the corner of her room. Stamping her foot, the spoiled girl declared, "You've been wanting to hold that doll for a year!"

Laura drew in a deep shuddering breath and lifted her head from her folded arms. She was laying on her stomach on Nellie's bed and all she wanted in the whole _wide_ world was for everyone to go away and leave her alone.

Well, that, and for her ma and pa to be okay.

Nellie – being Nellie – had stood at the window giving her a blow by blow report of everything that was going on in the street outside even though she'd asked her to stop, telling her a 'body has to be informed' if they're going to make wise decisions. Because of that she knew her ma was still alone in the church with the man with the gun and Pa was so mad at the sheriff from Mankato he could spit nails. Nellie overheard _her_ pa say that the sheriff didn't want Pa to go in where her Ma was and – truth to tell – she didn't want him to go in there either because she was afraid he would get killed, but if Pa didn't go in she was _sure_ Ma would get killed, and so she _did_ want him to.

Get Ma, _not_ get killed.

"I'm sorry, Nellie," the brown-haired girl lied between clenched teeth. "It's awful nice of you to want to let me hold your doll, but I don't want to do nothin' right now but see my ma and pa."

"Well, _that's_ not going to happen any time soon," Nellie announced. "There will have to be some kind of a showdown, I'm sure, where the sheriff will go in with guns blazing before anyone comes out. Knowing your pa, he won't listen to the law and he'll get in the way." The rich girl tossed her golden ringlets so they bounced on her shoulders as she smirked. "My mother says that Charles Ingalls is the most pig-headed man she's ever met and he'll probably do something stupid and get himself killed!"

Laura's jaw went tight, just like her pa's did. Her fingers clenched into fists. "You take that back, Nellie Oleson."

Nellie sneered. "Why should I? It's the God's honest truth and the Good Book says we should _always_ tell the truth."

Laura was on her feet. " _I'll_ tell you the truth, Nellie Oleson, just like the Good Book says! You are the meanest, most awful, most _selfish_ person I ever met! The only reason you ever do anythin' for _anybody_ is to make yourself look good and you might as well not try because you're just about as ugly as they come!"

She shouldn't have said that last part, but – dang it! Nellie had made her mad!

The blonde girl was spluttering. "I...well, I... I never!" Nellie's hands went to her hips. "How dare you say such horrible things after my ma and pa took you in tonight because they know by morning you and your sisters are going to be orphans and this is the last nice place you'll ever stay!" Nellie's nose wrinkled with distaste. "You're going to grow up in an orphanage, Laura Ingalls. You'll get to sleep in a metal bed with filthy sheets and ten other children and play with rats and eat gruel!"

Nellie's little brother, Willie – who up until that moment had been sitting on the floor between them playing quietly with a herd of painted horses – grinned broadly as he turned to look at her.

"Your turn, Laura!" he announced.

Laura scowled. She sure wasn't sure just _who_ he was rooting for!

Drawing herself up to her full height, which – sadly – was still about four inches shorter than Nellie, the little girl shot back, "I may grow up in an orphanage, but that's all right." Laura walked right up to the taller girl and stuck her finger in her pinafore. "One of these days, Nellie Oleson, your pa is going wake up to the fact that you are mean as a snake and toss you out on your ear and you'll end up livin' on the street!"

"My father would never do anything of the kind. He loves me!" Nellie declared, her voice wobbling just a little.

"He don't love you. He just feels sorry for you."

Laura could hear her ma speakin' in her ear, tellin' her she wasn't being Christian, but the part of her that was _all_ Charles Ingalls had just got started.

"And you know why? 'Cause of there ain't another person in the world who would put up with you. Not even that old battle-axe of a mother you got wrapped around your little pinky!"

Willie eyed the two of them and then rose to his feet and got out of the way.

It was a good thing he did.

'Cause ten seconds later Nellie had one less golden ringlet to bounce.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Charles cast a last glance at the deputy he had less-than-politely 'asked' to stop following him where he lay on the ground, and then rounded the Oleson's and headed for the church – careful to keep close to the shadows that lined the street. He couldn't be sure that Andrews hadn't left another man behind, though he'd seen the sheriff and the amused deputy ride out of town about the same time he'd headed out of the feed and seed. Supposedly, Andrews was going for reinforcements. The lawman said he had a half-dozen men camped about a mile outside of town, includin' some who had been a friend to the man Lucas Simmons' was accused of killing.

Men who would be none too happy with him for what he was about to do.

It didn't matter. Facing time in _jail_ didn't matter. All that mattered was Caroline who was alone in the church with a desperate man with a gun.

As Charles neared the white clapboard structure, he halted and took up a position near the back within a line of trees. From there he surveyed the yard. As he suspected, Andrews second deputy had doubled back. Every so many minutes the lawman made a circuit of the area surrounding the church. After watching for a while, the curly-haired man decided he was the only one. Andrews probably thought that, between Jackson and him, there was no way he could get in. Charles pursed his lips and shook his head. William Andrews must be a single man.

The threat of _Hell_ couldn't have stopped him from gettin' into that church and saving his wife.

Moving with stealth, the curly-haired man headed for the rear entrance. He timed his arrival to coincide with Andrews' deputy moving to the front. As the man rounded the structure Charles stepped into a puddle of moonlight, and then dashed across the yard to the short flight of steps that led up and into the back of the church. Luck or God was with him and he made it without being seen. With every nerve on edge, he took hold of the handle of the door and turned it. It opened! Stepping inside, Charles quietly pulled the door to behind him and then locked it from the inside. After drawing a couple of breaths to steady his nerves, the curly-haired man made his way through the cluttered room and over to the door that led into the sanctuary. There were a few creaky boards on the way. He remembered them from when he had helped the reverend move some furniture into the room not all that long ago. He was careful to avoid them.

Once he reached the door, Charles saw that it was standing partially open. He could see through the opening into the church. Lucas Simmons was sitting at the back on one of the pews closest to the wall.

He couldn't see Caroline.

Pivoting on his heel, Charles pressed his back up against the wall and waited for God or the gunman to make a move.

Whichever came first.


	3. Chapter 3

THREE  
oooooooo

"Lucas," Caroline began. The room had been silent for some time as weariness overcame both of them. After barring the door her captor had returned to the church pew, dropped onto it, and leaned forward to place his head on one hand.

He looked up at her.

"This can't go on forever," she said.

"Yes, it can," the young man insisted as he straightened up. "I'm claiming sanctuary. Your reverend has to let me stay here as long as I want."

"Reverend Alden can't very well grant you sanctuary if you don't ask for it," she replied, a little bit exasperated.

Lucas shook his head. "I ain't opening that door. Sheriff Andrews is out there. "

"Maybe you should talk to _him_."

The young man snorted. "Andrews don't want to talk. He'll claim I tried to escape again, or came at him. Something. Then he'll shoot me down in cold blood."

Though she had no reason to believe Lucas when he insisted he'd been framed, she did. Caroline considered herself a fairly good judge of character and the young man seemed sincere. Unfortunately, he was also dreadfully frightened and terribly young. So far his actions had shown him to be the type who leaped before he looked. And while she had no desire to see him killed – or carted back to prison unfairly – she had even less desire to see one of her fellow townspeople shot down.

Caroline's eyes flicked from Lucas to the vestibule to the right of the church doors and back. Sooner or later someone was going to come charging in and more than likely get themselves killed.

"Please God," she whispered. "Don't let it be Charles."

The blonde woman shifted uneasily in her chair. One of the things she loved most about Charles Ingalls was the way he embraced his Godly role as the protector of his family. She had watched him, on more than one occasion, face down the forces of darkness to keep them from harm. When it came to their safety, he knew no fear.

 _She_ knew it for him.

She didn't _know_ what she would do if she lost him.

After sitting still for several fast beats of her heart, she asked, "Do you mind if I get up and walk? I'm feeling a little stiff."

Lucas gave her a wary look. "You ain't gonna try anything, are you? 'Cause I don't want to have to hurt you."

Caroline smiled as reassuring a smile as she could muster. "No. I'm not going to try anything, I promise. I just need to move."

"You stay where I can see you."

"How about if I just walk around the sanctuary a few times?"

He thought a moment and then nodded. "Don't go too close to that back room where I came in. I don't want you..." Lucas suddenly went pale. "I can't remember if I locked the door." He shot up. "I can't remember if I locked the _damn_ door!"

"Cursing in God's house isn't any way to seek His help," she chided softly.

Lucas scowled. A moment later the gun swung her way. "Move over that way, I got to..." He paused and then turned and looked toward the front door. "No. You're coming with me. _You're_ gonna lock it while I watch."

"You don't have to come with me. I won't try to run, I promise. I'm not frightened of you," she said – and almost meant it.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am. I can't trust you. You're a...ma...and I know what ma's are like. You'll be wanting to get back to your daughter –"

"Daughters," she corrected. "I have three."

He looked uncomfortable. "Look. I aim to let you go back to them, but only when I got me an assurance that I got sanctuary here."

"And just how are you going to get that assurance if you won't let anyone in?" she countered quietly.

The young man looked at her. Unexpectedly, he struck the side of the gun against his head. "Stupid! Stupid! I will, but..." The gun turned in her direction again. "I gotta know who it is I'm talking to."

"Robert Alden. You want the Reverend Robert Alden."

"Okay. Okay. You get that door locked and then we'll go to the front and you can tell him to come in. But _only_ him."

"Only him," she repeated with a nod.

A few seconds later Lucas pulled the door to the store room open all the way. He nodded, telling her she should go in. She returned his nod and then walked straight in and to the back. Once there, she reached for the key that was in the lock. As the door was seldom locked, the pastor usually left it there. It was tempting to throw the door open and run for all she was worth, but she didn't. Not only had she given her word, but Lucas Simmons was a terrified boy and terrified boys made mistakes. She was fairly certain he didn't mean her harm.

Still, it seemed he had already killed once and that made him not only desperate but dangerous.

As her hand closed on the key and twisted it, Caroline realized that – curiously – the door was already locked. The only thing she could imagine was that Lucas had forgotten he'd done it when he came in. As she turned back into the room, the blonde woman was surprised to see movement within the shadows that lined the east wall of the room. Someone was there! They started to emerge but, at that moment Lucas chose to step into the room.

"What's keeping you?" he demanded.

"Sorry," she replied. "I had a little trouble with the lock. I'm coming now."

As she followed her captor through the door and into the sanctuary, Caroline cast her gaze toward the pool of darkness. Whoever had been there had vanished.

Caroline bit her lip.

Whoever it was, she hoped they were very, very careful.

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Charles bit back the curse that was on his lips. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against the wall again and breathed deeply, taking in air, seeking to still his fast-beating heart.

It had been _so_ close.

If Caroline had come in a few seconds earlier, or the man holding her captive had arrived a few seconds later...

He had to remember. He _had_ to remember that God was in His heaven and aware of everythin' goin' on down on the Earth, and that He'd promised to work it all to the good of those who loved Him.

"You keep that promise, God. You hear?" he muttered under his breath.

Slipping out the shadows, the curly-haired man approached the door to the sanctuary and peered through the crack between it and the wall. Caroline was standing by the table with the decorations on it that lay near the altar. Simmons was halfway down the aisle, headed for the front of the church. Charles eyes went to the escaped prisoner. Having been a young man once upon a time, he recognized the signs. Lucas was fairly bouncing from foot to foot. The fingers of one hand tapped a steady beat on his thigh, while the others toyed with the handle of his gun. The light coming in the church window shone off of his face, so he was sweating. Lucas Simmons was nervous and there was nothing more dangerous than a young nervous man with a gun. From what Sheriff Andrews had said – if the lawman was to be believed – when Lucas broke free he'd panicked and struck his guard so hard with the chains on his wrists that he'd killed him.

He couldn't take a chance with Caroline's life. He had to get her out of there.

And there was no time like the present.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Lucas was calling her to come to the front of the church. He wanted her to show herself and get the Reverend Alden to follow her in. It was her suggestion and she'd meant it when she made it, but now that she knew someone was in the storeroom, Caroline hesitated to move away from the rear door. If she went to Lucas' side, he could use her as a shield or hold her to make whoever it was do as he wanted. She hoped it wasn't the lawman the boy feared so much. The situation she found herself in would give the sheriff a reason – if not the _right_ – to simply cut the young man down. As a mother, her heart went out to Lucas. He was young. He'd made mistakes.

Unfortunately, what he'd chosen to do today was another one.

"Come here!" Lucas called again, his tone growing agitated. "You come here now!"

"Caroline," she said as she leaned one hand on the table to steady herself.

"What?"

"My name is Caroline. You never asked."

She knew from experience that it was wise to identify yourself, to make who you were as a person known to anyone who intended you harm. If they had a conscience, it would sometimes prick it.

Lucas nodded slowly. "Caroline. Ma'am. I need you to come here _now_."

It was at that moment that the blonde woman sensed movement behind her. Turning, she saw the rear door open and a hand reach out. Then, faster than thought, she was in the back room. It took her a moment to catch her breath and look at her rescuer. When she did, her heart stopped.

It was Charles.

Caroline opened her mouth to speak, but her husband placed three fingers on her lips and said four words.

"I love you. Run!"

And then Charles stepped through the door into the sanctuary and took her place.

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Charles raised his arms. He'd left his coat in the back room and entered the sanctuary in his shirt sleeves so it was plain to see he didn't carry any weapons. As he stepped through the door, the curly-haired man heard the sound of a key turning in the lock and footsteps retreating, so he knew his wife had obeyed him.

He also heard her sobs.

But Charles didn't have time to think about that since he also heard the 'click' of a hammer being cocked and found himself staring at the business end of a Colt Single Action Army revolver.

Lucas Simmons was sweating profusely. The hand that held the gun shook as he trembled with rage and fear. "Who the _Hell_ are you?" the boy demanded.

Charles was careful not to move. He kept his hands in the air as he quietly and calmly, said, "I'm Caroline's husband and I've come to take her place. You can put that gun down. I ain't goin' anywhere until you do."

"How...how'd you get in?" Simmons frowned. "I forgot to lock the door, didn't I?" The frown deepened as if the boy somehow felt betrayed. "Did Caroline let you in?"

Charles shook his head. "I was already in when she came to lock it. Lucas, look at me." He waited until he had the boy's full attention. "You need to lock it again. If I got in, then so can Andrews."

"Why would you want me to do that?" Lucas Simmons' voice was pitched high. He was panicking. "Why the _hell_ would you want me to do that? Are there other men in here already?" The gun had been aimed at his leg. Now it was aimed at his heart. "Who's in here with you?"

"Lucas, calm down. No one else is in here. " Charles paused. "How about this? I'll go lock the door. You follow me and we can search the room together."

"I got a gun!" he proclaimed.

Charles smiled a little. "I can see that. You're in charge." He licked his lips. "Is it okay if I call you Lucas?"

The boy thought a moment and then nodded.

"I'm Charles. Charles Ingalls."

Lucas' jaw tightened. "You the one with the three little girls?"

The question seemed out of the blue, but he nodded. "Yes, and I'd like to go back to them. So, how about you and I see that the door is locked and then you can tell me your story."

"Why do you want to hear it?" the boy demanded. "You'll just think I'm lyin' like everyone else."

Charles thought a moment. "Maybe you are, and maybe William Andrews is. I can't know unless you tell me."

Lucas was breathing hard. His fingers were as sweat-soaked as his face and he still had that trigger cocked. With the gun, he waved him toward the back room.

"Go in there. Lock the door! _Now!_ Do it now!"

The curly-haired man drew a breath as he turned his back on the boy with the loaded gun. At that moment he wasn't sure if he would live to draw _another_ breath. But Lucas let him go into the room and cross over to the door. As he locked it, Charles looked out of the small window set in the middle of it and caught a glimpse of William Andrews' livid face.

Charles blew out the breath.

Just in time.

"Now, you come over here and light that lantern and show me this room is empty," the boy ordered.

He did as he was told. The light was almost gone and the store room near pitch-black. After lighting the lantern that hung by the door, Charles took a turn around the room, using it to illuminate every cubby and corner.

"Satisfied?" he asked.

Lucas nodded. He waved the gun. "Now, you get out front."

"You want me to take the lantern or put it down and raise my hands again?" he asked, his tone even.

"Put your hands up!" As he complied, the boy came over and patted him down. When Lucas was sure he had no hidden weapons, he pressed the barrel of the gun into his back and ordered again. "Go into the sanctuary. Go to the table and sit on the chair beside it."

As they left the room Lucas palmed some gold cords that were layin' on top of a table. They were used to hang banners at special times. It was clear what the boy meant to do. Since he was more of a threat than Caroline, Lucas was going to bind him to the chair so he couldn't move. Knowing any chance of escape would be lost when that happened, Charles considered overpowering the boy. He was a strong man. He could do it.

Probably.

The image of Caroline's face as it had looked when she crossed to the door and took hold of the key loomed before him. His wife had been terrified. No words had come out, but she'd mouthed a few.

' _Charles. Come back to me. Stay alive.'_

That was the promise _he_ had to keep.

With a grunt the he dropped into the chair. Lucas handed him one of the cords and, still holding the gun, ordered, "Tie your feet to the bottom rung and tie them tight. I'm gonna check!"

Charles sighed as he bent to do what he had been told. "You gonna shoot me if I don't get it right?" he asked with a wry twist of his lips.

"Shut up! Just do it!"

The curly-haired man glanced at the boy as he finished the knots and sat back up. Then, deliberately, he placed his hands behind the chair and crossed one wrist over the other.

"What do you think you're doing?" Lucas demanded.

Charles looked over his shoulder at him. "I thought you wanted to tie my hands."

"Why are you helping? How come you aren't trying to get loose?" Lucas' eyes went wide. "Do you know something I don't?" Without warning, the barrel of the gun was pressed into his hair. "Tell me!"

The older man held very still. "I already told you, Lucas. You had my wife. I wasn't gonna stand for that. You got me now." Charles paused and, in spite of the dire situation, a small chuckle slipped out. "Though I ain't too sure how good a bargaining chip I'll be. Sheriff Andrews and I didn't exactly see eye to eye."

"He's a bastard!" Lucas snarled.

He nodded. "He well may be, but he's also a lawman and you're an escaped convict. Seems to me he's got the upper hand."

"Only because he's a liar and a cheat and," Lucas drew in a deep breath, "and a murderer."

"Lucas?"

The boy looked right at him. "What?"

Charles rolled his eyes upward. "Do you think you could take that gun out of my hair and get my hands tied up all nice and tight so you can relax? I gotta admit, it's makin' me a might nervous."

The boy's gaze went to the gun. He seemed only then to realize that it was still anchored in his curls. "Sorry," he said as he pulled it away. "Sorry."

Then, Lucas bound his hands and checked the knots on the cords at his feet.

Charles studied him as he did. Lucas Simmons was young. He _might_ have passed twenty. And while he looked nothing like a hardened criminal, the boy bore obvious scars of the time he'd served in prison. He had a lean, hungry look, and there were lines around his mouth and eyes that suggested he'd endured just about all he could.

Hardened? No. Desperate?

Yes.

"What're you looking at?" his captor demanded.

"You." Charles paused. "Lucas, I'll tell you somethin'. I don't like Sheriff Andrews much, but I think I like you. You didn't hurt Caroline and you let Laura go. That shows you've got a good heart. Why don't you tell me what happened and maybe I can help you."

The boy glared at him and then seemed to deflate. He dropped to the floor, the gun dangling between his knees. "No one can help me," he sighed. "All I can do it stay here where he can't get me."

"You lookin' for sanctuary?" he asked, suddenly understanding.

Lucas nodded. "It's all I got left."

At that moment there came a sudden pounding on the church door and a harsh voice called out, "Simmons! Lucas Simmons! This is Sheriff William Andrews. By the authority of the state of Minnesota I order you to surrender your prisoner and come out of there right now or face the consequences!"

The boy sprang to his feet. He turned and gave him a sorrowful look.

"I'm sorry, Mister Ingalls. I ain't got anything against you." Lucas licked his lips nervously. "You understand that?"

He nodded.

"And you understand what I gotta do?"

Charles hesitated. "Son, it won't help you to make another mistake. You kill me, it will only make things worse."

The boy studied him a moment before shaking his head. "I already killed me a lawman. They're gonna hang me if I'm caught."

"Simmons! You answer me!" Andrews shouted as the banging continued.

Lucas' jaw set and his eyes took on a look hard as flint.

"They can't hang me twice."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ten minutes before Caroline had stumbled down the church steps. She lay in a heap at the bottom, sobbing, until she felt gentle hands lift her up. They directed her toward the street. At first she went along meekly. Then, it struck her. Her husband was in the church with a man who had threatened to kill her. She was a woman. Lucas wasn't really scared of her.

He was certain to be scared of Charles.

She'd broken away and started to run back, but had been stopped again by those hands. They belonged to the Reverend Alden. He'd held her tightly and looked at her with deep pity and said, "Caroline, Charles is in God's hands. You need to go to your children."

It seemed the men of Walnut Grove had noticed Charles was missing and it hadn't taken much to piece together what her husband had done. Sheriff Andrews was in the street when they returned, cursing and swearing he would see Charles in jail for assaulting an officer of the law and obstructing justice. The citizens of Walnut Grove were there too, some of them to offer strength, others, sympathy, and some merely to enjoy the show. Caroline quickly scanned the faces and drew strength from those she knew.

They would be praying, petitioning God even as she was, that Charles make it out of that church alive.

Before she knew it, she was sitting in a chair and someone was shoving a cup of steaming hot liquid into her hands. She gripped it, but was shaking so hard the hot liquid splashed over the side and fell, steaming, to her lap. Someone murmured an apology and a cloth patted her leg.

She looked up to find it was Miss Beadle.

"Mary? Where is Mary?" Caroline gasped, sure somehow that her eldest child had found a way to follow her father into the sacred building that had now become a battleground.

"She's all right," Miss Beadle said. "Laura's with her. They're both safe." Eva placed a hand on her cheek. "So are you."

Caroline looked around, unsure where 'here' was. Then she realized she was in the mercantile, sitting amidst the rows of fabric and other goods. Harriet Oleson was behind the counter with a few of the church women, looking her way and speaking softly. No doubt Nels' wife was telling everyone what a foolish pig-headed man Charles was.

The blonde woman let out a sigh that turned into a sob, and then rolled on toward hysterical laughter.

At the moment, she might have to agree!

Her girl's teacher was staring at her. "Caroline, are you all right? Do you need anything?" Eva looked over her shoulder. "Get Doc Baker. I think she's in shock!"

It took everything that was in her, but she managed to reach up and catch hold of the other woman's arm. "I'm...I'm all right. I just need to see my girls."

It seemed God heard her request before she voiced it. Someone shouted 'Ma!', and a moment later Laura came flying into the store with Mary close behind.

"Ma! Ma!" the little girl cried again as she flung herself into her arms. "Oh, Ma!"

As always Mary was more reticent. Her oldest daughter tried so hard to be all grown up. Mary stood slightly to the side, staring at the two of them, and remained there until she opened up her arms and bid her come in.

"Hush," she said, one hand petting each head, brown and blonde. "Hush. Everything will be all right. God will look after your pa."

She heard Laura's intact of breath. Her head shot up. "What about Pa?" she asked.

Caroline's eyes went to Miss Beadle. Eva had gone pale as paste. Behind her, the reverend was shaking his head.

They didn't know.

Dear Lord, they didn't know!

Mary was looking at her. "Ma," she asked, her voice small and lost, "how did you get away?"

"Pa! It was Pa, wasn't it?" Laura all but shouted. "Pa's in there!" The small girl pivoted in her arms and broke free and would have made it out the door had Isaiah Edwards not walked in at that exact moment. The big burly mountain man caught her child in his arms and held onto her as she kicked and shouted. "You let me down!" she cried. "I gotta go to Pa! Let me go to Pa!"

Isaiah's eyes met hers over Laura's shoulder. He gave a nod and then said, "Half-pint, you ain't thinkin' straight."

"I am too!" Laura insisted as she made a tiny fist and beat it against his chest. "My pa needs me!"

"I'm sure he does," he replied.

Caroline watched as Laura quieted and stared at Isaiah, suspicious. "You're just sayin' that so I'll give in."

"No. No, I ain't. I'm sayin' that 'cause I mean it." The mountain man paused and then nodded in her direction. "You see your ma over there?"

Laura frowned. "Course I do."

"You know what your pa needs you to do? He needs you to be with your ma."

The little girl shook her head. "That ain't helpin' Pa."

"You don't think so? Half-pint, I ain't gonna lie to you. Your pa risked his life to get your ma out of that church so she'd be safe." He leaned in close and lowered his voice. "I think she kind of looks like she needs takin' care of, don't you?"

Tears of gratitude flooded Caroline's eyes. Though the situation was dire, she couldn't help but feel blessed by Isaiah Edwards. He knew just what to say to Laura to diffuse that temper of hers.

"Now, why don't you go over there and do what you need to do," he suggested gently, "and let your pa do what he knows he _has_ to do."

Laura drew in a breath that shuddered through her. "Are you gonna go look after Pa, Mister Edwards?"

Isaiah tweaked her nose. "You bet I am, Half-pint. Though knowin' your pa he'll be mad enough to kick his own dog and tell me I should of minded my own business."

Laura's lips turned down in a frown. "Pa wouldn't kick Jack no matter what!"

One of Isaiah's salt and pepper eyebrows popped up. "Now, you and me..." The mountain man cast a look in her direction that had something of an apology in it. "You and me got a bet. We'll see which one of us knows your pa best."

"We'll know when he comes out. Right?" Laura asked, her voice quiet and small.

"Yes, siree bob!" Isaiah said as he lowered her to the ground. "Now you go look after that ma of yours so your pa will be proud of you when he comes by to get you later."

"Yes, sir," her child said as she started her way. After five steps, she turned back. "You take care of Pa, Mister Edwards."

He gave her a little salute. "Yes, Ma'am."

Fortunately, Laura turned.

That way she missed the glint of tears in the big bear of a man's eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

FOUR

ooooo

When Isaiah Edwards stepped into the street and headed for Walnut Grove's church, he didn't know what he expected to find. It certainly wasn't a half-dozen of his neighbors linked arm in arm, barrin' a lawman access in. When he'd let Laura loose and looked around, he'd wondered where all the men had gone.

Now he knew.

The Reverend Alden was right smack dab in the middle of them. Along with five others, the preacher was facin' down about half that number of lawmen – only they was totin' guns. They hadn't pulled them yet. Well, not all of them anyway.

The mean lookin' one out front wearin' a vest with a badge on it was wavin' his and shoutin'.

"I'll have you all arrested!" he warned. "Now get out of my way!"

"You do what you have to do, Sheriff Andrews," the reverend replied. "I assure you that, by the time you return with the proper authorities and papers to back up your 'request' to break into God's house, the matter will be resolved."

"That's your friend and parishioner in there," the lawman snarled. "Do you want to see him dead?"

"No," Robert Alden replied calmly as he broke free of the other men and went toe to toe with the sheriff. "And that is precisely why I will not let you in. From what Caroline said, the young man inside has requested sanctuary. I intend to grant it. Once I do, Charles will be free."

"You're a fool!" Andrews spat. "Simmons is a convicted killer. You go in there, you'll just give him another victim!"

"What I intend to do is to give him a chance." The reverend paused as his gaze went to the lawman's gun. "Something I doubt he would get if _you_ were the first to walk through that door."

"Are you accusing me of something?" Andrews demanded. "If so, spit it out!"

"I am accusing you of nothing. God knows what is in your heart and it is He who will judge!"

Andrew's jaw locked. "I'm tellin' you, parson. Mister Ingalls is a dead man if you don't get him out of there. Lucas Simmons burnt his own home down with his mother in it!"

"Did he?" a voice asked.

Isaiah pivoted to find Nels Oleson approaching. "I knew they were there somewhere," the storekeep said, his thin lips turnin' up in triumph. "Harriet had them hidden in with those dreadful romantic novels she reads."

Andrews was growing exasperated. "What are you talking about?"

It was then he saw the newspapers in Nels' hands. "My wife is rather..." The storekeep cleared his throat as he tossed a glance at the reverend. "Harriet is _overly_ interested in trials with all their lurid details. The Simmons case made the papers from Spring Valley to Mankato. It says here that there was a witness who claimed young Lucas Simmons was nowhere near his home when the fire occurred, but he vanished before he could testify."

"So what? So he thought better of lyin'," Andrews spat.

Nels pointed to one of the articles. "It says here that the witness in question also fingered another man as a possible suspect. A man who had been seen visiting Mrs. Simmons on a regular basis." The tall thin man looked directly at the lawman. "It gives his name."

Andrews looked uncomfortable. "So, I was seeing the kid's mother. That's not a crime."

"No, but it does cast a certain...doubtful light...on your testimony," Robert Alden said calmly. "And puts to question your ability to be impartial." The reverend paused. "Sheriff Andrews, I intend to grant this young man's request. If he is, as I believe, an innocent in all of this, he will let Charles go and then he and I will await the arrival of the U.S. marshal. It is my hope that I can get Lucas to turn himself over to the marshal. After that, I will speak for him and request a new trial that takes into account _all_ the evidence. If..." the minister waited for the sheriff to meet his eyes, "...if your aim is _truly_ the administration of justice, you should have no problem accepting that."

William Andrews stood with his head down for the longest time. He sighed and shook his head – and then, faster than the eye could follow, pulled his gun from its holster and pointed it straight at the reverend.

"You, _reverend_ , will get out of my way."

Robert shook his head. "I won't," he declared, and then added as he looked at the men standing to each side of him. " _We_ won't."

"You can't kill us all," Nels agreed.

A slow, slick smile lit William Andrews' face. "No, but I can take you all into custody. Deputies! Now!"

Andrews had said he had more men, camped just outside of town.

It was the one thing he _hadn't_ lied about.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Charles arms were aching. His back was aching too. In fact, just about everything he owned was except his legs and that's because they were partially numb. When the boy had forced him to tie his ankles to the bottom rung of the chair, it had placed them at an odd angle. The cords were cutting off his circulation. He'd tried to shift but had stopped when Lucas whirled around and pointed the gun at him. The boy was growing increasingly unstable with each minute that passed. Lucas was sure that the Reverend Alden was going to deny his request and that any second Sheriff William Andrews was going to burst through the church doors and shoot him before he had a chance to tell his story.

And Lucas wanted to tell his story.

It seemed Sheriff Andrews had been sparkin' his mother. At first, Lucas had thought it was okay, but then one day he found his ma outside hanging up the wash with her sleeves rolled up and he saw the bruises. He pestered her and she finally broke down and told him how Andrews hit her and how, when she'd told him she didn't want to see him anymore, the lawman had warned her she shouldn't ought to do that – that somethin' bad would happen if she did. Andrews warned her too that if she told anybody what he'd done or what he'd said, she'd regret it. He was the sheriff, after all, and she was nobody. He told her he'd trump up some charges against Lucas and send him away for thirty years. Lucas was angry and had gone lookin' for Andrews, which was just what Andrews knew the boy would do. The sheriff had some of his men work Lucas over and then dowsed him with liquor and threw him in jail, presumably for being drunk and disorderly. Only no one knew Lucas was there other than Andrews and his two closest friends who just happened to be his deputies.

Or so Andrews thought. Seems there was a drunk in the alley spotted them haulin' the boy into the jail. He had no reason to love the sheriff, having been the recipient of Andrews' special kind of 'justice' before and – after Lucas' mother died in that fire – when he sobered up, the man came forward to tell what he knew.

And promptly disappeared.

When he let Lucas go, Andrews' deputies took the boy outside of town and left him, makin' sure no one saw them. As he approached his home, he saw the smoke risin' and knew what had happened. Andrews had gone after his ma. She'd rejected him again and the dirty lawman had killed her.

Word went 'round the town soon enough that one of Andrews' deputies had seen Lucas ridin' away from the house the night it happened, hell bent for leather. There was nothing the boy could do. He ran, which made him look guilty. Sheriff Andrews and his men caught him soon enough and assured the judge that the story he was tellin' was nonsense; that he'd made it up – blaming upstanding citizens like them to save his own hide.

Charles eyes went to Lucas where he paced the length of the sanctuary, turning every now and then to look toward the front of the church. He could hardly blame him for failin' to believe that he actually wanted to help him. He'd been betrayed so many times.

Still, he had to try again.

"Lucas."

"I ain't lettin' you loose!"

"Son, I'm tellin you, if you let me go to the door –"

"No!" the boy shouted and then added, his tone surly, "And I'm not your son. Don't call me that."

Charles pursed his lips. "I imagine I'm just about old enough to be your pa." He hesitated and then asked it anyway. "Where is he?"

"Who?"

"Your pa."

"He died when I was little." The boy ran a sleeve across his forehead, wiping away sweat. "I don't remember him."

"So, you know what it's like then."

Lucas turned to look at him. "What do I know?"

"What my daughters are feelin' now," he said quietly.

Lucas scowled. "Look, I ain't responsible for you bein' here. If you wanted to be stupid and come in on your own – "

"I wanted to protect my wife. Just like you wanted to protect your ma."

The boy stood for a moment, tapping the gun on his thigh and then he shot across the church and was beside him in an instant, pointing it at his head.

"Shut up! Shut up, or I'll –"

Charles didn't flinch. "You'll what? Become just like Andrews?"

Lucas was at the end of his tether. Suddenly, it snapped.

Charles reeled back as the gun caught him on the cheek, splitting the skin. After his head stopped spinning, he spit out the blood that had pooled on his lip and once again sought the boy's gaze.

"It's happenin' already," was all he said.

Lucas Simmons stared at him and then, slowly, his gaze dropped to the blood-stained weapon he held. He blinked as if the blood came as a surprise and then looked back up at him.

"Lucas. You have to trust someone sometime." Charles drew in a breath. "Let me help."

The boy sucked in air like a drowning man. "I'm...sorry. I... I don't want to be like him, but...I'm so scared." Lucas swallowed hard. "Mister Ingalls, I'd rather _die_ than go back to that place." The young man stared at him for a moment before tucking the weapon behind his belt. Then, he moved behind the chair and began to unfasten the cords that bound him. "But I don't want to take you with me."

As the cords fell away, Charles closed his eyes and whispered a quick prayer of thanks. When he opened them, he stood up and turned to face the boy.

Lucas had the gun pointed at his own head.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Caroline Ingalls sat with her two daughters on a chair placed just inside the plate glass window of the Oleson's mercantile. From that vantage point she could watch the street leading up to the church. Everything that was in her told her to take to her heels and run to the church, but the two young, frightened and grieving children who clung to her held her fast where she was.

God was with Charles and she had to be with his daughters.

Looking down, she took in Laura's little face, nestled in the white fabric of the pinner apron she wore. It was obvious her child had been in a fight. The look Harriet Oleson had sent her way as she left the store and headed home told the story clearly enough. No doubt Laura and Nellie had gotten into it over something while she was at their house. She had thought to question her, but decided it could wait for later.

It could wait for Charles to do it.

He would come home. He _was_ coming home.

He was going to be all right.

When she turned to Mary, Caroline found her oldest child staring at the street. Those bright blue eyes of hers had not missed the group of mounted men who rode into town, hitched their horses out front, and then walked with deliberate steps toward the church. There was no doubt they were William Andrews' men. The moonlight struck the silver stars pinned to their coats as they went. Lars Hanson had pulled her aside shortly before their arrival to tell her that he and the other men of Walnut Grove meant to join the Reverend Alden. It was their intention to deny Sheriff Andrews access to God's house where a young, frightened man waited to be granted sanctuary. Caroline drew in a breath. Andrews had ridden into town with two deputies. The men who had arrived raised the number of lawmen to nine.

And they were all carrying guns.

Only by God's mighty hand could the men of Walnut Grove prevail.

"Mama?" Laura asked as she stirred.

Mary looked at the pair of them and then inclined her head toward the Mercantile's front door. Lars Hanson was standing on the porch outside. When she nodded, Mary went to join him.

Caroline watched the older man wrap an arm around her oldest's shoulders before replying. "What is it, Laura?"

"Ma...there's somethin' I don't understand."

She rubbed her fingers in a circle on her child's back, seeking to connect and comfort her. "Tell me."

"That man...the one in the church...he could have come into town anytime. I mean, before we got here, or after. Or on a day we stayed home." Laura's face scrunched up as it did when she was thinking hard. "How come he had to come when we was here so you and me were in danger and then Pa had to go in to save you?"

In other words, why did bad things happen to good people?

Caroline let out a little sigh. "Laura, I don't know. Not really." At her child's surprised look the blonde woman added, "But God is sovereign and He is in control and it's all happening for a reason."

Laura puzzled that out for a moment. "You mean it's for you or me, or for Pa?" She was plainly unconvinced.

"Or maybe for the men of the town. Look how they've banded together in spite of their differences." As she spoke the tired, defeated face of the young man in the church flashed before her eyes. "Or perhaps it's for Lucas Simmons."

"I prayed for him," her child said softly. "Right after I prayed for Pa to be all right."

Caroline's hand stopped its comforting motion. "You did?"

The little girl wrinkled her nose. "Yes, Ma'am. It...wasn't easy, but I did it 'cause I know Pa would want me to. I prayed he would get his sanctuary."

She couldn't help but smile. "Thank you, Laura. That's a wonderful thing you did."

Her daughter sat up a little and looked at the porch where Mister Hanson and Mary stood talking. "Can I go outside with Mary, Ma?"

The blonde woman hesitated. She had no idea what was going on at the other end of the street. Still, she couldn't shield the child from the harsh realities of life forever.

Taking Laura's hand, she said, "We'll both go out. How's that?"

Laura's smile was a weak one, but it was there. "Maybe we'll find Pa walkin' this way."

Caroline leaned down and kissed her head. "Maybe."

It was as their feet hit the boards of the porch and Mary and Lars turned to greet them, that they heard it.

A shot.

It came from the church.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Charles was breathless. He lay in a tangled heap on the church floor, his feet still bound to the chair; his hands grasping Lucas Simmons' wrist. Next to him lay the wooden cross from the altar. One of its painted arms was broken and dangled in the air.

The bullet had splintered it when the boy tried to kill himself.

Lucas Simmons lay beside him, curled into a ball and sobbin' like a child who had lost all hope. As he reached for the boy, Charles heard the sound he'd feared. A strong 'boom' and then another.

Someone was usin' a ram to break down the church door.

A quick scan of the floor showed the boy's gun lyin' close by. A thin trail of smoke rose from its barrel. Awkward as it was, still tied to the chair, Charles managed to scoot over and grasp the weapon. As fast as he could, he checked to see if there were any bullets remaining.

He found one.

Even as the chamber clicked into place, the sound of splintering wood announced the arrival of whoever it was who was bent on forcin' their way into the church. Charles had a pretty good idea of who it was goin' to be and about a second to decide whether or not to defy him. As he sat there, panting hard, the curly-haired man's eyes returned to the cross.

He really had no choice.

Lifting the gun, he pointed it toward the man coming down the aisle and called out, "Stop right there, Andrews! Don't you come any closer."

Sheriff William Andrews advanced a few more steps before he halted. "You shoot me, Ingalls," he declared, his eyes striking like flint, "and life as you know it is over. You'll never see that pretty wife or those girls of yours again."

Charles swallowed over his fear. "I don't intend to shoot you. I just intend to see justice done by this boy. He's asked for sanctuary and sanctuary is what he's going to get until the U.S. marshal gets here."

" _I'm_ the law here!" Andrews shouted.

"No, you're not," a quiet voice proclaimed from close behind him. Andrews whirled to find the Reverend Alden approaching.

"You keep out of this, preacher!"

"I will not!" Robert declared. "You are in God's house and, as such, under _His_ jurisdiction. _I_ am his representative in this town. It is _you_ who have no place here. _You_ who are trespassing!"

The lawman looked from the reverend to him and back. Andrews scowled as his hand fingered the handle of his gun. "I ain't gonna give the two of you a chance to let that boy escape."

"And the reverend and I aren't goin' to give you a chance to take Lucas out in the woods and shoot him in cold blood," Charles answered defiantly even as his former captor began to stir.

"Mister Ingalls," Lucas said, his voice raspy with tears. "I can't..."

"You just keep quiet," Charles warned. "I ain't riskin' my life just to have you go and turn yourself over to that madman."

"Murderer," a voice said, startling them all.

Everyone in the church that wasn't already lookin' that way turned toward the back of the church at the sound. Deputy Jackson – the uneasy one from the meeting at the feed and seed – was standing at the end of the aisle. He was as pale as the silver moonlight that streamed in the stain glass windows.

"You keep your mouth shut, Jeremiah!" Sheriff Andrews snarled.

Jackson's eyes were takin' in the church. Charles watched as the deputy's gaze moved from the altar to the broken cross on the floor and then, last of all, fixed on him.

"I can't live with it anymore, Bill. It ain't right." Jeremiah Jackson paused. "My ma...she brought me up to do what's right. I heard the Word in a place just like this. I can't let you...destroy this man and his family." Jackson's gaze moved from him to Lucas, who was sitting up now and listening. He looked stunned. "Or this boy."

"You mind your tongue, Jeremiah," the sheriff warned. "You're lookin' at prison time!"

Charles frowned. Sheriff Andrews was mindin' his _word_ s. He knew what he said was safe. It could be a warning that Jackson would be lookin' at jai time for defying the sheriff's orders.

Or, it _could_ mean that Jeremiah knew what William Andrews had done.

Deputy Jackson's eyes returned to the broken cross, and then moved on to the Reverend Alden. "Sorry Bill. Looking at prison is a sight better than looking into Hell."

The sheriff froze. Like a caged animal Sheriff Andrews' cold eyes darted everywhere at once. He looked at him, noting how he still held Lucas' gun in his hand. He looked at the doors. His gaze went back to the reverend and the men of Walnut Grove who surrounded him. Last of all, they returned to Jeremiah Jackson.

And then – without warning – the sheriff launched himself at his deputy.

"Traitor!" he screamed, his hands reaching for the other man's throat.

The dirty lawman didn't make it far. He went down under a pile of Walnut Grove men.

As he watched Andrews fall, reality caught up to him and Charles began to shake. Tears streamed down his cheeks, mixing with the blood on his face; travelin' along with it in a flood of iron and salt that reached his lips. A hand fell on his shoulder. Another one took hold of the gun and then someone spoke.

"Charles. It's over. Please, let me have the weapon. The Lord's house is no place for it."

The dazed man blinked and looked up to find the Reverend Alden watching him with sympathetic eyes. Charles couldn't find any words, so he nodded.

"Reverend," a small voice said from close behind him.

Robert looked over hi shoulder. "Yes, son?"

"Can I go now?"

"Not yet, Lucas, but I believe you will be able to soon. Nels has sent someone for the marshal. I'm sure once he's talked to Mister Jackson, all charges against you will be dropped."

Lucas was silent a moment. Their eyes met during it and Charles nodded at the boy.

"Then, I have my sanctuary?"

The minister took one of his hands and placed it on the boy's shoulder, uniting the three of them.

"Yes, son," he said. "God has brought you safely home."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

After directing Lucas to a low cot in the back room, Robert returned to his side. The minister had a brown glass bottle in his hand and a cloth.

"Charles, you need to let me see to that cut on your cheek. It's deep."

He shook his head and batted the holy man's hand away. "I'm fine. You just take care of Lucas."

"And I'll take care of him," a light, familiar voice said.

Charles looked up to find Caroline standing a few feet away from him. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the blood coating the left side of his face and then went to the boy's gun where it lay on the church pew. She closed her eyes for a moment and then spoke again.

"We heard the shot. We thought..." She sucked in air. "Oh, Charles, I thought..."

He was still sitting on the floor by the altar. The reverend had helped him untie his feet, but the splinters of the chair were everywhere around him. Charles started to rise but before he could his wife ran forward and wrapped her arms around him.

"Oh, Charles...thank God!"

He held her, caressing her hair like he did Laura's when she had taken a fright. "Hush. Caroline, I'm fine." When she had quieted, he asked her, "Where are the girls?"

His wife held him tightly for another moment before pulling back. She reached out and touched the injured side of his face and then looked up at the Reverend Alden. With a nod she indicated the cloth and bottle, and he gave them to her.

"You look a sight," she breathed as she began to clean his face. "We don't want you scaring the girls."

He pulled a face. "Too late."

Caroline batted his shoulder with her hand. "You're incorrigible."

Charles' dark eyebrows popped. "Is that a good thing?"

His wife stared at him for a long moment and then leaned in and kissed him on the lips, while running the fingers of her free hand through his hair.

"No. It' the best!"


	5. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

oooooooo

A knock at the door brought Charles' head up. He put down the book he'd been reading, rose, and headed for the door. He was moving a little stiffly, not having fully recovered yet from the events of the week before. When he'd reached for Lucas and gone down, taking the chair and the boy with him, he'd pulled a few muscles. Work was stretching them back into place, but he still moved with a slight limp.

He didn't mind. It was a constant reminder of how grateful he was to be alive.

As he opened the door, Caroline came into the room. He heard the little gasp that escaped her. He was surprised too.

He thought the boy was long gone.

"Lucas," he said.

Lucas Simmons was ringin' his felt hat with his fingers and lookin' nervous. "Can I come in, Mister Ingalls?" he asked.

Charles nodded and moved out of the way. As he did, Caroline said, "Good evening, Lucas. I have to admit, I'm pleased but surprised to see you." She glanced his way. "The Reverend Alden told Charles that you had gone back to Mankato."

"I did. But just to get a few things." The boy hesitated and then added, "I can't live there no more. There's too many memories."

The curly-haired man stared at their unexpected guest for a moment and then remembered his manners. "Come on in, Lucas. There's coffee on the stove and Caroline made an apple pie for supper. You're welcome to a slice."

Lucas looked like he meant to refuse, but then nodded his head. "Thank you, sir."

"Charles," he said with a smile. When it looked like the boy was going to disagree, he added, "I think, after what we went through together, that you can call me by my first name."

"I... I ain't sure I earned the right, sir." His eyes flicked to Caroline. "I mean, after threatening your life."

Caroline did a good job of hiding her surprise at that, although he saw through it.

He placed a hand on the boy's back and directed him toward the table. "I don't think you meant to hurt me. Did you?"

Lucas sat down. He winced and then shook his head.

As Caroline slid a plate with a slice of pie in front of the boy, Charles asked, "So where are you headed?"

Lucas thanked his wife before answering. "Back east. My ma's got a sister. She...wrote me while I was in prison. Told me when I got out I had a home with her."

All charges had been dropped against the boy including the death of the deputy who had been his guard. Seems William Andrews had trumped up that charge too. The man hadn't been killed, but he'd resigned and gone home and no one knew any better – other than Andrews. Jeremiah Jackson had been true to his word. In court he told how it was the sheriff who'd killed Mrs. Simmons and that he and another deputy were accessories to the crime. The judge didn't cotton too well to dirty lawmen. Jackson got two years in jail.

Sheriff Andrews went to prison for life. After all, he was responsible for at least _two_ murders – Mrs. Simmons _and_ the drunk who was supposed to testify.

"That's good to hear," Charles replied. "Family is important."

Lucas was toying with the pie with his fork. He dropped it and looked straight at him. "Why are you bein' so nice to me? The judge told me you spoke for me and that what you said was important in the decision he made. You know? Not givin' me any time for hittin' that guard or escapin'."

He'd been a character witness. So had Robert Alden.

Charles took a sip of the coffee Caroline had bought him and then leaned back in his chair. "Let me ask you a question. What were you lookin' for when you came into the church and found Caroline there?"

His wife had taken a seat on the other side of the table. Lucas glanced at her before answering. "You know. Sanctuary."

"Sanctuary," he repeated. "Not to threaten anyone or take anyone prisoner?"

"No! Of course not! I..." The boy looked ashamed. "I was scared. I didn't know what else to do."

Charles nodded. "Did you learn anything from it?"

Lucas went silent. He didn't answer immediately, but thought for a moment. "I learned that I didn't need to be afraid. That there _are_ people I can trust, like you and the reverend...and even Mister Jackson. "

The curly-haired man eyed him. "What about God?"

Again, Lucas remained silent for a few heartbeats. "Before I went into that church, well, I'd about given up on God. He let my ma die..." The boy swallowed hard. "I hated Him for that. And then, when I got blamed for it..."

Charles nodded. He'd been there, when the tornado had taken his crop and he despaired of how he would feed his family; when his son had died.

"And now?"

"The Reverend Alden came and talked to me that first night, after what I'd done. He told me I had to take responsibility for it and ask God to forgive me. I thought he was talkin' about what I did...to you."

"But he wasn't?" Caroline prodded gently.

"No. He was talkin' about me doubtin' God and sayin' I hated Him. He opened the Bible and read to me from Job."

"Which scripture?" she asked.

"Chapter thirty."

He knew it. Especially the part near the middle.

'He hath cast me into the mire, and I am become like dust and ashes. I cry unto thee, and thou dost not hear me. I stand up, and thou regardest me not. Thou art become cruel to me. With thy strong hand thou opposest thyself against me. Thou liftest me up to the wind. Thou causest me to ride upon it, and dissolvest my substance. For I know that thou wilt bring me to death, and to the house appointed for all living."

But he knew as well, another verse in Job, this one in chapter nineteen.

'For I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth. And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another.'

"The reverend told me that God's purpose isn't to make us fit for this life, but for the next," Lucas went on. "He said it was all right to get angry with God like Job did, so long as it helps us to find our way back. That –"

"That getting angry at God can lead to a renewed relationship," Charles finished for him and then grinned at the boy's look. "Yeah, I got the same talkin' to."

Lucas blinked. "You?"

"My husband, the saint, you mean?" Caroline asked quietly, laughter crinkling the skin at the ends of her eyes.

Charles nodded. His gaze remained locked on his wife. "We all have hard things to make it through. So hard we figure we'll never come out on the other side. But God makes a way and, in the end, we're stronger in Him." He reached out and placed his hand on the boy's arm. "Lucas, God has a plan for your life. You just see you don't waste the opportunity he's given you to start over."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Later that night, after the boy had gone and his wife was in bed, Charles sat on the porch thinking. The air was chill with the approach of autumn and the moon was high. Its silver light painted the land and his fields of corn a pale shimmering blue. As he sat there, considering how God could take evil and turn it to good, Charles heard the latch lift and someone step out of the house. He'd expected Caroline.

It was Laura.

"What are you doin' out of bed?" he asked, his tone slightly stern.

"I couldn't sleep, Pa. I was sittin' by the window and saw you when you walked out to the barn." His daughter paused, uncertain. "Can we talk?"

He stared at her a moment, gauging his child's need for an answer against her need for sleep. Finally he nodded. Indicating his knee, he had her sit down.

"Now what is it that's more important than sleep?" he asked.

Laura was quiet, which was unusual. She looked down at her hands. "I...had a bad dream."

She'd been havin' them, and always about the same thing. "About the church?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, Pa. But every time I go in there for school all I can see is..." A tear trailed down her cheek as she turned to look at him. "Oh, Pa! I was _so_ scared."

He locked his arms around her. "You want to know a secret, Half-pint?"

She nodded.

"So was I."

"You were? Did you think Lucas was gonna shoot you?"

He had, but it wouldn't do any good to admit it. "No, Darlin'. I was afraid Sheriff Andrews was gonna shoot Lucas."

"But Lucas hurt you!" she insisted as she touched the remnant of the wound on his cheek. "Ma thought he shot you!"

He would never forget that night. The images remained. Caroline, white-faced, standing by the table in the church, frowning at him for daring to rescue her. Young Lucas Simmons with the gun against his head, fighting to end his life. The moment when they reached the mercantile and found Mary and Laura waiting on the porch, white as winding sheets, thinking he'd been killed.

That night, after they'd gone home and gone to bed, Laura had come downstairs. She'd crawled into their bed and held onto both of them as if life itself depended on that touch. Mary was a bit of a stoic. She kept her feelings to herself. Their youngest, Carrie, happily, had no idea what had happened. But his caring, deep-thinking and overly sensitive middle daughter had been all to well aware that she could have lost both of her parents in one fell swoop.

Charles thought a moment longer and then said, "Half-pint, I'm gonna tell you somethin' and it's gonna be hard for you to understand. One day it will make more sense, but for now you just gotta believe me 'cause it's me tellin it to you. All right?"

True to her nature, Laura considered what he said and then nodded.

"You and me – really, every human being on this Earth – none of us have any control over anythin'. Oh, we think we do and we try hard as we can to hold onto that idea, but in the end, it's all up to God."

"What if you died?" Laura paled when she realized she had blurted out her deepest fear.

It was a gift and he took it seriously. "What if I had? Would you have stopped believin' in God?"

Her eyes were wide and round in the moonlight. "I might have," she answered honestly.

"You know, that's what Lucas did when his ma died. He blamed God for her death. It made him sad and mad, and almost turned him into the very thing he feared."

"You mean, he was becomin' like Sheriff Andrews?"

"Sheriff Andrews was an angry man. Maybe angry at God, but sure enough angry at life for not givin' him what he wanted. Lucas' mother didn't want him and he killed her because of it."

"Why'd God let that happen, Pa?" she asked.

He paused, thinking through his answer. "I don't rightly know, Half-pint. Just like you, it seems unfair to me. But God has a plan for Lucas' life and it includes his ma movin' on before her time. Life can be hard, Half-pint. It's full of a lot of pain. Lucas' ma isn't feelin' it anymore."

"She's dancin' with Jesus, isn't she?"

He smiled. "Yeah. In the Heavenly places."

Laura fell silent. They sat for some time, her on his lap; him, with his arms around her – both of them listening to the stars sing and contemplating God's glory.

"Pa," she said at last.

"Yes, Darlin'?"

"Is Lucas gonna be all right?"

"Yes, I s'pose he is," he replied. "How about you? Are _you_ gonna be all right?"

Laura drew in a breath and let it out slowly. It showed in the crisp autumn air. Then she twisted and looked up at him.

"Is it okay if I pray to God that you get old and your hair turns white and you live to be one hundred?"

He laughed. "Well, I ain't so sure about the part with the white hair."

Laura reached up to run her fingers through his brown curls and then she circled his neck with her arms. "I love you, Pa."

Returning the hug and holding on to her, Charles stood up and headed for the door.

"I love you too, Half-pint. Don't you _ever_ forget that."


End file.
